Life Is But A Dream
by loveiosa
Summary: He scoffed, moving his head to look pointedly at the man next to him, "If life is a dream, then I want to wake up from mine." AU.
1. Chapter 1: The Name

**Life Is But A Dream**

 _Pairing: Francis Bonnefoy/Arthur Kirkland (France/England)_

 _Summary: He scoffed, moving his head to look pointedly at the man next to him, "If life is a dream, then I want to wake up from mine." AU._

 _Word Count: 3,063_

 _A/N: I'm so embarrassed! I have no plot bunnies! Gah! I thought of this as I cleared the dinner table so please help my unfocused butt. If someone wants to take over one of my multi-chapter stories go ahead, but please PM me the link so I can read it. Nothing in this is meant to offend anyone!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1:** **The Name**

 _Liverpool, England_

* * *

It was foggy outside. Clear sign of rain.

Nonstop rain, Monday through Sunday, like a cycle stuck on repeat. Sometimes, when Arthur wasn't working his ass off, he would sit in his great leather chair and stare at the pouring water from behind his large office window. The blond often caught himself gazing out at the rain for hours on end, letting all his important corporate duties fall away carelessly.

Couldn't hurt, right? He had thrown away whatever miniscule amount of love he would ever have. Tossed it away to be washed down the gutters by the never ending torrent of rain.

 _'Not like I deserved it.'_

His career couldn't possibly be harmed by a wasted hour or two.

Meh. That sorry fool that loved him was just that, a sorry fool. Arthur couldn't bear to think his name- much less _say_ it -too painful. He was happy, and that was wrong.

Arthur didn't want happy. Didn't need or have the right to be happy.

Always felt that if he was happy for even a moment, he would fuck it up, or the world would eventually come and do it for him. He didn't think he would survive it if it happened.

He was soon proven correct.

But he did survive. Got through it. Picked himself up.

Slowly, but surely.

He sighed, turning back to his large desk, picking up his pen to sign another stack of meaningless documents. Many of his days flew by like this; Arthur would wake up, button on a suit, open his umbrella and walk to his office building, where incapable interns and piles of papers awaited his attention.

His brow lowered over jade eyes, nose scrunching as unwelcome memories swam to the surface of his mind, plaguing him with reminders of how he threw it all away for a family that didn't want him.

 _'Goddamn gits always said I was making selfish choices, and the moment I made one for them, it comes back to bite me in the ass.'_

His brothers were so stupid. Nothing like Arthur, they always rose through the ranks with intimidation, and that worked for them. That is, until Arthur landed the position as Chief Executive Officer of the major international trade company he worked at, incurring the envy and wrath of four big brothers.

Envy. Envy was a sin. Wrath was too.

So was homosexuality, apparently.

Not like he cared.

Wasn't religious.

Arthur snorted under his breath, shoving the paperwork away from himself, jabbing a finger down onto the office phone that rested on his desk.

 _"Yes sir?"_ A feminine voice came through the speaker, clipped and professional. He hummed, "Get me a coffee, I trust you know my preferences?" Arthur was irritated, he didn't really like this specific secretary, and everything reminded him of _that_ person. _"Of course, sir."_ A short dial tone rang as the secretary abruptly ended the com-link.

Rude.

 _'A lowly underling should always respect their superiors!'_ He'd laughed when he'd heard the indignant yet playful sentence uttered from _his_ mouth. Laughed like he hadn't laughed in a million years.

Which was more or less true.

But that was beside the point, it had been funny, and when Arthur had literally made a sound between a chortle and a snort at the words in front of his unsuspecting brothers, well, he'd lost their reverence and gained the job of being the punch-line of many jokes.

This wasn't healthy, not being able to say that goddamned name without his conscious screaming at him.

 _Healthy_. Now that brought up a memory from the beginning.

 _'This is toxic. This is toxic and we should stop.'_ Arthur had said that, stopping the conversation they had been carrying throughout their meetup at a small cafe.

A smile was all that was sent back, a smug, knowing, toothy smile that Arthur had wanted to kiss- or slap -off that face.

 _'Are you sure?'_ Yes he was fucking sure. From day one that infernal man had been slowly chipping away at Arthur's professional and social life; and better yet, the blasted man new he was doing it.

 _'Stupid, pompous, self-righteous, charming, seducing, and totally enthralling man.'_

Still, Arthur couldn't utter that damned name.

"Sir?" Arthur looked up, viridescent gaze stopping on a woman standing in front of his desk, glasses perched on her nose, hair tied up into a loose bun. "Ahm," he was caught off guard, and realized he was smiling. The secretary extended her hand, holding a slightly steaming cup of coffee in her perfectly manicured grasp. "Your coffee, sir. Three sugars, one cream."

 _'Amazing communication skills, Arthur. Bravo.'_

He'd never been gifted with such talent, that was all _his_ job; talking to people, finding out what they liked, luring them into that devilish little trap he had custom made for them.

Again with the goddamn conscious screaming in his aching head about _'that name'_.

He smiled tightly, taking the cup from her hands, setting it down near yet another stack of papers. "That will be all, you're excused." Her eyes hid a infuriated expression, and she nodded discourteously before exiting the room.

Arthur could still hear the soft patter of the rain as it sent down it's last showers, he sipped at the completely American drink, wincing at the bitter taste, but swallowing. He couldn't drink his favorite tea and still expect to stay up and finish the plentiful array of overdue projects and unfinished contracts that his brothers had oh so lovingly sent him.

Earl Grey sounded _really_ good right about now. To be honest, if it would keep him awake, he'd settle for the cheap tea they sold in the drug-stores.

Instead, he sipped slowly, wondering if he would ever get over _that_ person. Probably not, he supposed, but there was no use dwelling on the past.

Why could he not say that name?

Bugged him.

Dwelling, it seemed, was exactly what his bloody mind was focused on. What could he do though? It wasn't like he could shut that out every second of the day, he wasn't that strong willed. The bushy browed blond rolled his eyes, swiveling in his black leather chair to face the window once more.

Therapy was in order, Arthur decided, if his psyche kept on refusing to just let go and move on.

Why wasn't he getting on with his life? Was it some psychological or emotional instability bullshit he should be worried about?

Nah. Too much on his plate already. Didn't have time to worry about anything other than work.

But still, therapy or _some_ form of help was obviously needed.

Not like he needed a whole psychological evaluation, just a push.

Speaking of help, didn't he have a charity auction tonight that he was the guest of honor at?

Highly likely. Oops. Well, he definitely wasn't going to attend, and made a mental note of telling that dreadful secretary to call the hosts and tell them he was sick or something.

Arthur quietly wondered, as he signed one more form, if in another life he would still be _'in love'_ and _'happy,'_ for lack of a better term.

With the certainly cynical and deranged sense of humor God seemed to have, it was doubtless that no matter how many alternate realities he dreamt up, he would still lose everything, and probably only end up less successful than he was today.

A jealous and wrathful God indeed.

After...well, that person had flown out of his life, Arthur had pretty much gone back to the same rut he was so cemented in before.

Now, as the rain blurred out any chance Arthur had of looking at the rosy sunset, he packed his briefcase, stuffing tons of papers into the designer case. He grabbed his coat from the hook near the office door, pulling it on and walking out of the large room.

Bone deep exhaustion ate away at him, he tossed the coffee cup into the trash bin, nodding an insincere goodbye towards the unpleasant woman, before stepping out into the rain, umbrella already covering his head.

So goddamn tired. Arthur was so tired, that, if possible, his fatigue was preventing any thoughts of rest.

Ridiculous.

He strolled down the sidewalk, the rain pelting his black umbrella softly. Arthur shifted, standing at a lamppost that was flashing a red signal, telling the pedestrians not to walk.

 _'Some drunken fuck was probably going to anyway.'_

The light went green and Arthur glanced to his sides before jaywalking across the street, getting back on the sidewalk and starting his pace once more. He ambled along the paved pathway for about fifteen more minutes, holding the umbrella higher as he dug through his deep coat pockets for his town-house keys, finding them in his inner left. The blond turned, stepping up onto concrete stairs and unlocking the front door, pushing it open with a sigh.

His mind raged with mental battles and turmoil as he stuck the umbrella into the holder, shuffling out of his coat.

That name.

That name.

That name.

Say it.

Say it.

 _Say it!_

Nope. No such luck.

Arthur groaned, glad for the ending of one more work day. He rolled his shoulders, heading into his rather small kitchen.

Not like he could cook anything.

The bushy browed man opened his fridge, moving his hand past containers of leftovers and take-out boxes.

 _'What was still good in this thing?'_

Highly probable that Arthur's old...food, if one could still call it that, was growing some greenish-white mold that was slowly infecting everything else.

He grunted, holding back a snort as he thought of all the Nobel Prizes he could win just from the new species of bacteria that was encased in old Indian and Chinese food. Shaking his head, he pulled back his arm, a red and white container in his hand, Arthur popped open the lid, sniffing at the noodles inside suspiciously before deeming the leftovers safe for consumption.

 _'Yeah? And when did you become a FDA specialist?'_

Arthur ignored his thoughts, pulling open the microwave that sat on his only countertop and tossing the box in, slamming the small door and jabbing at the timer on the side. He waited for the beep to sound, grabbing his Chinese out of the radioactive oven and getting a fork from his cutlery drawer, padding over to his equally small living room. Arthur dropped down onto his couch, kicking his feet up and using the remote to turn on his television.

He stabbed at his take-out, spinning the noodles onto his fork and putting them in his mouth. He chewed slowly as he flicked through the channels on the television, sighing as he stopped on a news channel that was reviewing the international stock report.

 _"The FTSE 100 collection of companies based in London has had a major downturn in their stock prices, almost negative one hundred and eleven percent. Even though the companies have been closed to the market for some time, their current clients have gotten a break from the usually high prices of the successful British businesses."_ The monotone voice of a reporter sounded in Arthur's ears, making him groan as he realized that his company, _'Kirkland Supply,'_ was purchasing stock from many of the companies listed in the FTSE index; a good, yet still harmful thing in the event of a stock deficiency. The reporter continued, a graph showing up on the screen and outlining which companies had a better time dealing in the current economy.

This was definitely going to bring in more paperwork.

He didn't mind at first. He knew he was good at closing deals and finishing contracts. But, as an effect of his affinity for documentation, everything was sent to him, even when a employee with basic knowledge of the economy and semi-training in deal making could fill the forms out.

With a scowl on his fair face, Arthur pierced more of the greasy food with his plastic fork, now chewing angrily as his thoughts grumbled in annoyance.

 _'Stupid paperwork.'_

 _'Stupid job.'_

 _'Stupid affinity.'_

Once done, Arthur shut off the electronic box, passing by the kitchen to throw the now empty carton into the trash and toss the plastic cutlery into the sink. His home was small, and he liked it like that. His position as C.E.O had no affect on his living preferences, and his logic stated that with a small home came less room to clutter; if his social or love life was squashed because of that, so be it.

Like he had a love life. Or a social one for that matter.

His good buddies had been a meat scarfing American and a clean freak, order obsessive German.

Arthur had never cared much for friendly company; having four exceptionally rude older brothers had ruined the art of companionship for him. He had met the American, Alfred, at one of the meetings one of his international partners had held in the United States. Alfred was an attendant, who had been transferred to England when the American company had moved their headquarters to Liverpool. After he had accepted the- admittedly awkward -friendship between himself and Alfred, one of the first thing the American had said was that _"British McDonald's would never be as awesome as good ol', home-bred 'Merican Micky D's."_

The eccentric New Yorker had no shame. Absolutely _none_.

He'd only raised and eyebrow and shook his head at his new friend's gluttony.

The blond had bumped into Ludwig, the order obsessive German, and files had flown to the ground as the two crashed into each other. _"Mein Gott! I'm so sorry!"_ The white-blond's English was heavily accented, his icy sapphire blue eyes clouded with worry. _"No, the fault was mine, chap."_ Arthur helped the other collect the files, shaking Ludwig's hand and introducing himself. _"Well, I'm Arthur Kirkland, C.E.O of Kirkland Supply."_ Ludwig had smiled and taken the offered hand, _"Yes, your reputation precedes you. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, the owner of Germania Distilleries."_ Arthur nodded, knowing that the German had been in Britain for a partnership offer between the two companies. _"You're here to get us to supply your beer in England, correct?"_ Ludwig nodded, beer had always been his passion, to spread that with the world was his dream.

A successful meeting had ensued and the pair had gone out for celebratory drinks, at which Ludwig had only drank beer. Arthur supposed it was a German thing.

The damned man just couldn't get drunk. He'd drank two, four, eight bottles and still was only _tipsy._

Arthur had two goddamn shots of whiskey and immediately got severely intoxicated.

Ludwig had rented an large apartment in Wallasey, staying as his company's ambassador, while his brother, the co-owner, remained in Germany.

Alfred had been given a condo near Birkenhead, and was set up as a secretary for _'Union & Co.' _the firm he had been with when Arthur first met him.

The Englishman shut off his kitchen light, shuffling to his bedroom, it was almost nine at night, he'd been at work since eight in the morning and had stayed till five-thirty. Arthur massaged his temples, going through his wardrobe to get his pajamas out, he wasn't necessarily going to go to sleep right away, maybe sign a few documents and catch up on some reading, but it always felt good to be out of the clothes he'd been in all day.

He pulled off his suit, folding the jacket and pants to take to the dry-cleaners, tossing the dress-shirt into his hamper. The forest eyed man then tugged on his pajama's, feeling a lot more comfortable when he was changed.

 _'It always is nice to be comfortable, non?'_

Arthur gasped, blinking at the sudden mental intrusion. What the hell? This was going to far, that person was gone, and Arthur wanted- no, needed -to stop thinking about him. He huffed, grabbing his phone from his nightstand and typing a memo for him to schedule a therapy session, couldn't trust that stupid secretary to do anything.

Mood suddenly fouled, Arthur pulled back his sheets, forgetting about the extra work and reading he was planning to do. Sleep would be better, he decided, particularly if he was going to forego work tomorrow to go to a therapy session.

Wasn't like he _really_ needed the therapy, he could get over anything. Just needed a little push, that's all.

Arthur made sure his alarm was set for six, before closing his green eyes and drifting into restless sleep.

Didn't matter how restless he would be, some sleep would be better than no sleep.

Especially since he was going to have to pour his heart out tomorrow.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope ya'll like it, my plot bunnies are kinda waking up from hibernation. The bunny sleep was so deep that I couldn't even finish a one-shot I had half typed up on my phone yesterday. Took me two whole days and a barrage of FrUK art to rouse the stupid things. Yeesh. Those company names though. So original... 'Germania Distilleries,' 'Kirkland Supply,' and 'Union & Co.' I'm done with life. :P To make up for my unoriginality I'll post an extra awesome backstory in the next chapter._

 **Read and Review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Slam Into You

**Life Is But A Dream**

 _Pairing: Francis Bonnefoy/Arthur Kirkland (France/England)_

 _Summary: He scoffed, moving his head to look pointedly at the man next to him, "If life is a dream, then I want to wake up from mine." AU._

 _Word Count: 3,782_

 _A/N: Backstory time!~ Whoot! I'm sorry if any of my medical information is incorrect, I get all my terms and stuff from Grey's Anatomy._

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Slam Into You**

 _Runcorn, England_

* * *

He'd been late for work.

Again.

He'd stayed up too late trying to complete the latest damned project his oh-so-kind brothers had pushed onto him.

 _"The future C.E.O should definitely finish this one!"_

 _"Oh, imagine the horrible rating we would receive if a 'regular' employee messed this up!"_

 _"You know you're the best at completion and presentation, baby brother. That's why you're getting promoted to C.E.O!"_

Not even Dylan, the nicest of his siblings had tried to help his situation.

He only had one more part to complete, the infographic, which he could only finish at the office because all the files and records he needed were unauthorized for him to take home.

Or so that dumbass secretary had said.

Arthur was looking down at his folder, briefcase hanging from his shoulder, green eyes narrowed in concentration. His finger raced along the pages, reading carefully, learning tons of information. His pace, however, was fast and irregular, his eyes not looking at where he was going, the path being walked completely from memory.

 _'Turn here.'_

 _'Stop there.'_

 _'Wait now.'_

Unfortunately his brain didn't register the _'wait now'_ part, instead opting to _'go now.'_ He walked clear across a street, the calls of his fellow pedestrians not reaching his ears. He was too stuck in a world of numbers, stock prices and schedules. A loud yell and the impact of a large body crashing into him broke his trance, his mind now realizing the harsh screeches of car wheels and the shouts of worry and exclaimed horror. His heart raced, blood pounding though his veins and everything else crumbling to nothing. He was dead, hit by a car, Arthur was sure of it.

Thankfully, that was not the case, he liked his life and was never happier to hear the screams of abject terror. A groan came from next to him and Arthur understood that something had jumped and pushed him out of the way.

 _"Oh my god!"_

 _"Are they okay?!"_

 _"Someone call an ambulance!"_

They?

Who was they?

Who the hell was brave, nice, and stupid enough to run in front of a major street and push him out of the way?

The blond heard another groan, this time accompanied by a hiss, and the rocky shuffling of gravel as more people came to help them. A person lifted him, and a second was calling the police, requesting an ambulance.

Who was them though?

 _"Hey! Hey! Look at me, are you okay? Can you see me?"_ A third person was waving a hand in fort of his face, brow lowered in concern. Arthur lifted his arm, pain rocketing though it in spasms.

 _"Don't do that! You're bleeding!"_ Now they were just being annoying. Yes he could see them. Yes he could hear them. Yes he could goddamn breath.

What he wanted was to see who the hell had pushed him out of the way.

The piercing yell of sirens hurried over, red and blue flashing in the reflection of his eyes. A paramedic team rushed over, getting him onto a stretcher and lifting him away. A second team was carrying a stretcher as well, a now unconscious taller person resting on it.

Who...?

They were loaded into the ambulance, police cars and policemen surrounding the crash site. A brace was put around his neck, paramedics sticking needles and IVs into his arm, trying to stabilize his and the other persons vitals. The blond couldn't feel his right leg from knee down, and was pretty sure all of his left arm was broken. A man was above him suddenly, holding open his eyes and shining a light into his pupils, making him shy away form the brightness as his skull throbbed more.

 _"We've got optical response from the first patient, but his BP is still too low."_

A woman nodded next to Arthur, pushing in a small syringe into a tube that led to Arthur's arm.

 _"16 cc's of Indomethacin given, blood pressure is stabilizing. We need to get those broken bones back in place, or he won't have full use of them later on."_

What? No. No, no, no he needed those bones, couldn't live without them.

 _"We can pop them back in, but we'll need to re-break them at the hospital."_

Concern. Arthur was concerned. Re-break? Hell no. He broke them once, he definitely wouldn't break them twice.

 _"Sir, sir can you hear me? I'm going to sedate you sir, okay?"_ The woman was pushing in yet another syringe, not giving him a chance to respond.

The last thing Arthur heard before he blacked out was a loud beeping from the bed next to his and a yell of _"We're losing him!"_

* * *

His therapist nodded, eyebrows lowered as he jot something down on his notepad, brown eyes looking back up to scan Arthur once more.

"So you feel indebted to this person?" A small inquiry, sure, but Arthur had no idea how to answer it, of course he was thankful the man had saved his life, but that wasn't all of it.

If it was, he wouldn't be here.

"Well, I suppose that's one part of it..." He trailed off after a moment. Arthur had no idea how he felt, that was why he was talking to the dumbass shrink.

He'd gone to the therapist, as scheduled, and was ready- or so he thought -to pour out his woes.

Never been good at that though.

"Mmm...does this mystery person have a name?" There it was. The dreaded question.

Arthur gulped, looking around the closed room, turning his eyes to meet anything but the doctor's gaze. His emerald eyes landed on the window behind the single desk, and he briefly considered slamming the raven headed man over the skull and jumping out of the third story glass.

No, too risky.

"Not currently." Arthur's forest eyes blinked, "W-well he does," he mentally berated himself for stuttering, "but I don't think I'm ready." Arthur wrung his hands uncomfortably, how could this man do it? Holding everyone else's pain and strife when he probably had the same issues?

The blond snorted inwardly, from the looks of this overly feng shuied office, he really didn't.

"Alright then. That is okay, Arthur. it will take some time." The raven tilted his head, tapping his chin with the end of his pen, before writing another slow note in his book. "Continue, if that's okay with you." He looked back up at Arthur, gaze calculating and intense. What the hell was he writing about Arthur?

The patient blinked, clearing his throat, "Of course."

* * *

Arthur was ricocheted out of his slumber, an erratic beeping and the shouts of random voices surrounding his now conscious body.

He opened his mouth, trying to ask any questions about where he was, but all that came out was a harsh rasp that grated through his throat.

 _"Sir, stay still. You've sustained multiple injuries. We've got you on morphine and IV meds, but we need your consent to perform surgery."_

Surgery? Why?

 _"What?"_ Arthur managed to whisper a low cough, the strain making him wince.

 _"We've found that the concussion you sustained caused bleeding in the occipital lobe of your cerebrum. We think the fall you took may have ruptured a vein, that, if not operated on, could cause the loss lost of most- or all -of your vision."_ The nurse patted his shoulder, forcing him to lay back down.

The beeping was still going on. What in the hell?

 _"What is that goddamn beeping?"_ He had no care for politeness, he just wanted his eyes to stop blurring and the beeping to stop. The nurse, blinking at his understandable irritability, looked over her shoulder, at a curtain next to Arthur's bed. _"The man who pushed you out of the way; he's received grievous injuries to the head, legs, and has a collapsed lung, we're trying to help him, but it doesn't look too good."_

The sandy blond's eyes widened, blurry vision increasing as his pupils dilated, _"He...Is going to die?"_ The nurse lowered her brow, frowning slightly. _"He might, but if we can operate in time, he'll have a seventy-five percent chance of retaining use of all his limbs."_ She nodded, a determined set in her brown eyes.

The blue curtain flew open, revealing a bed covered in doctors and nurses, the beeping getting louder. Arthur looked on with petrified amazement, the pack of medics rushing around, pumping oxygen into a body, trying desperately to zap it's heart back to life. _"Turn the defibrillator up to 300!"_

It gave him a sense of insignificance.

He wasn't worth it. More than seven billion people lived in the world; one hundred fifty-one thousand six hundred people died daily, and _he_ was chosen to stay alive.

Arthur couldn't believe it. He was insignificant. Sure, he ran one of the biggest supply companies in the world, but he could be replaced.

This dying man couldn't.

 _"What's happening? You...you said you would save him!"_ Why was he shouting? He didn't know this man.

 _"Sir, sir I need you to calm down, we're trying."_ The doctor who was talking to his nurse addressed him, eyebrows knit in barely covered helplessness. Arthur gaped at the flocking people dressed in blue scrubs, watching as they pushed multiple syringes into the long tubes that peaked out form the man's body.

His vision blurred more, and he felt a soft prickle trailing down his face and realized, as he wiped at his face, that the liquid was not salty tears, but blood.

 _"What?!"_ He stared at his hand, vision going in and out, _"Help! Help me!"_ The nurse turned around, gasping at the crimson running down her patient's face. _"Oh my god!"_ She grabbed Arthur's hands, preventing him from rubbing at his face, then slammed a hand on a small blue button near the bed, a siren blaring, as she yelled _"Code Blue! I need OR 2 prepped now!"_

* * *

Arthur looked up, frowning as he saw the therapist scratching something out in his yellow pad.

The suited man craned his neck, trying to see what he was writing. Arthur couldn't see the small handwriting, and shifted in his seat, "What are you writing?"

The doctor smiled, putting his notepad and pen down on the table next to his seat. "Just some observations." He cleared his throat, clasping his hands. "You seem very open to telling me about all this Arthur." Said man laughed nervously, "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" His therapist pursed his lips, closing his brown eyes slightly, nodding as if he was reminding himself of something.

Probably another note on how Arthur was a psycho.

"That is what's supposed to happen." Arthur narrowed his eyes, drawing back shortly, "well why aren't you writing?" His lip turned up in distrust, another look of remembrance.

What was he making note of in that little psychoanalyzing brain of his?

"No reason, I only assumed that it was making you uncomfortable." The Englishman left the calculating brown gaze, glancing over to the desk that donned the therapist's name and title.

 _'Doctor Kiku Honda: Counselling psychologist,_ _Practitioner psychologist,_ _Registered psychologist.'_

He huffed, moving his head back to raise an eyebrow at the doctor, "Well, Doctor Honda, you know what they say about assumptions."

"Yes I do."

"I'm sure, Doctor Honda."

Sarcasm.

Another mental note.

What the hell.

"Please, call me Kiku, and continue with your story," Doctor Honda- Kiku -offered a small smile, a minuscule comfort to Arthur, but a comfort nonetheless.

* * *

His eyes were covered.

He couldn't see, couldn't breath.

Something was on his face.

Arthur pulled a tube-like thing from his face, gulping in air heavily. Damn that had hurt.

Shouldn't have done it.

He groped around, hands moving blindly until he decided he was alone.

 _"Hello."_ Okay, maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought. The voice was as hoarse as his, laced with exhaustion and undertones of happiness.

 _"Um...hello? Who's there?"_ Arthur put his hands down, lifting his back to lay upright on the soft pillows. The voice laughed, a small chuckle before falling into a pained coughing fit. Arthur mentally raised an eyebrow, confusion running free in his mind. _"I'm Francis. Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to meet your acquaintance."_

 _'Francis Bonnefoy. Nice'_

Arthur waved away his thoughts, a small blush forming on his cheeks, the voice may have been scratchy and struggling, but Arthur could hear the faint accent and rich tones underneath it. _"Well then, since I suppose we'll be seeing- no pun intended -much of each other, my name's Arthur Kirkland."_ Francis snorted at the little joke, already liking the man he was sharing a room with.

No harm in friends, no? It was the least he could do. After all, he'd shoved the poor man down onto a paved road, no doubt causing road burn in places that either one of them thought they even had.

 _"I apologize for my abrupt, um, crash into you, mon cher. It was very rude, though time was of the essence."_ Arthur only grunted sarcastically, a smirk donning his half covered face, _"mon cher? You must be French then."_ It came out as more statement than question, _"and what is a Frenchman doing in England, dive-bombing innocent businessmen?"_

A nervous hum.

Well, at least he wasn't the only one.

 _"Yes, I am French, from_ _Bordeaux._ _I was really just passing through, heading to Canada to meet my friend. Though it seems I'll be extending my stay."_ He sounded lightly miffed, but amused at his current placement. _"Canada? I've heard it's very cold over there."_ Arthur tilted his head, sorry for the lack of facial expression.

 _"Well yes, it's almost as cold over there, as it is wet here."_ The bemused chuckle echoed around the room, making Arthur scoff, _"it's not that wet here, at least the population isn't composed of perverts."_

If the man wanted to argue stereotypes, then two could play that game.

 _"Oh! Perverts! I must argue that fact, mon ami. We aren't perverts, merely experienced in the arts that the English aren't."_ Arthur raised his head, smiling, he licked his lips, seriously wanting to pull off the wrappings that kept his vision obscured. _"What arts? The art of not bathing?"_ He smiled maliciously, egging Francis on, enjoying the playful banter after months of demands from his brothers.

 _"Hah! At least the French are better at fashion than you Englishman."_ Francis laughed, his baby-blue eyes gleaming with mirth. The rasp was gone from both their voices, a new, more joyous tone replacing it. Before Arthur could retaliate with another comment about the French, the wooden room opened, a person holding two clipboards walking in.

 _"Well then, I suppose you two have gotten along exceptionally!"_ The new person's voice rang in Arthur's ears, making him turn his head, although he couldn't see the new attendee.

 _"Hello, angel, how are you today?"_ Francis' deep tremor carried in the air, making Arthur ache to see the face of who he'd been addressing for the last twenty minutes.

 _"Oh I'm just fine you flirt!"_ Arthur heard her feet move towards his bed, and he leaned back warily, _"okay Arthur, I'm just going take off your bandages."_ He cleared his throat, allowing her to reach behind his head and unclasp the flat hooks that held it on his head. _"The surgeons stopped the bleeding in your brain, and we managed to save your eyes, but you may need reading glasses for bright screens."_ Arthur nodded, holding his eyes closed as the light invaded his senses.

Dang it was harsh.

* * *

As he reiterated the story to Kiku, he laughed solemnly, sarcasm dripping from the short chuckle.

"What do you find funny?" Kiku had the notepad again, writing more vigorously now.

No matter, the current situation was too funny.

"Oh, it's just that the lights, in the hospital," he paused, wondering if he should continue. "Well, they were harsh, as I said, and invaded my senses. Just like that _bastard_ invaded my life."

The brown eyed doctor nodded slowly, everything about him seemed so stereotypical, his suit, the glasses by his side, the notepad, everything.

"The bastard is Francis?" Well _duh_ , who else? Right now, Arthur couldn't care about rhetorical questions or snarky comments that the therapist tried to pass as honest inquiries.

He was mentally unstable; not stupid.

At least he could say the name now.

"Yes, Francis was such a bastard." Arthur wiped at his eyes, tears of laughter drying on his lashes. "I suppose we can't all find 'love' in the same places; I surely didn't expect to fall in love with the man who gave me a concussion."

"Mmhm...so how did you feel when you saw Francis?" Kiku flicked on his pen, glasses on his face.

"I don't know, he was handsome, I guess. But I didn't drool all over him like a schoolgirl." Arthur crossed his legs, arms wrapped around his middle, knee bobbing up and down.

 _Up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down._

Another inquisitive look.

Nope. Arthur was done.

"Okay, what the hell? You keep giving me these," he shook his head, brow lowering, eyes hardened as he searched for the right words,"these stupid _looks_ and that I can't understand! What the bloody hell are you writing?!" Arthur was surprised at his outburst, the yell echoing in the room even as his voice died down.

Kiku recoiled slightly, regaining his straightened posture, glancing at the clock that ticked away above Arthur's chair.

He smiled, seemingly ignoring the shout, except for the small recoil.

"It would seem, Arthur, that we have no more time, I am sorry if I've pushed you too far." He got up, extending a hand towards the blond man, "I am glad, though, for the progress we have made, which I hope will continue next...Wednesday?"

Arthur swallowed, grunting an affirmation, shaking the doctor's hand. "I suppose we shall, I'm sorry as well for yelling, it was quite uncouth of me."

The Japanese psychiatrist smiled politely, accepting Arthur's apology and showing him to the elevator, waving his goodbye.

Embarrassment coursed through Arthur, his tantrum had possibly made the image of his psychogenic health seem much worse than it really was.

He sighed, stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby, where a receptionist smiled cheerfully and gave him a pen, pushing the sign-out sheet towards him. "Thank you for visiting, sir! I'm glad you had a good time!"

The Englishman snorted internally, rolling his eyes as he turned away, heading for the door. "I'm glad I came." The biting tone was reeking off of him, but the lady didn't catch on- or chose to ignore -and took the board back, tapping on a few computer keys, then handing Arthur a card. "Your next appointment is on Wednesday, we can't wait to have you back!" she smiled again, lips turning upward in a overly nice curve.

Arthur nodded, exiting the small, but pristine lobby, and stepping in to the rare sun that shone onto the island country, the city's noise traveling around him.

He checked his watch, raising an eyebrow as he read the time as near three o' clock, too late for him to go to the office, and too early for him to just go home and laze around.

He shrugged to himself, starting down one of the crowded sidewalks, sliding past people chattering away to their companions or on their phones, some holding bags stuffed full of merchandise.

Well this was one of the industry and trade cities.

Arthur made his way around the busy town, watching the citizens of Runcorn glide their way through their lives, not a care in the world.

Or so it seemed.

Arthur looked more carefully, analyzing the ones who he hadn't noticed at first, the quiet people, ones just sitting alone at cafe tables and staying in their own worlds, keeping to themselves and resting in the shells the had put up.

Saw a girl, pretty brown hair, sitting on a dark bench, knees folded in.

A blond boy, pattering along the shop windows, gaze lidded and saddened.

They had lives too, just like him, and it appeared as if they weren't going too great as of now.

His mind ached, searching for the word, the explanation for the realization that others have problems.

Sonder. _Sonder._ That was it. Such an appropriate word. Sounded sad, cold, distancing.

Arthur groaned, falling out of his trance, eyes flicking back to his immediate surroundings. He was zoning out too much lately, and that was bad for someone who was at meetings most of the time. The jade eyed man strolled along, head turning at the noises that carried over others, mouth humming a familiar tune.

He smiled, apologizing to those he bumped into, shifting around the tourists.

 _'Excuse me.'_

 _'I'm sorry.'_

 _'Oh, it's okay, I didn't see you there!'_

Arthur looked down for a moment, the distraction giving someone enough time to slam into him.

"What the bloody hell?!" He was scared out of his staring, stumbling a few steps back, he furrowed his eyebrows, glaring up at the person.

"Excus-"

What?

No. Not him.

"Oh, Arthur, I haven't seen you in so long!"

It was.

The darker corners of his mind laughed cruelly, having no sympathy for the blond.

 _'It looks like we're always going to slam into each other.'_

"Francis?"

* * *

 _A/N: Oh my god that was so bad. "-_- Help me, it's scarring my existence._


End file.
